


In The Sky

by Miko



Series: We Shall Keep The Faith [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Abandonment, F/M, First Love, Implied/Referenced Abortion, Implied/Referenced Torture, Loss of Identity, Memory Loss, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Past Brainwashing, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Power Dynamics, Teacher-Student Relationship, Temperature Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 02:03:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4041490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miko/pseuds/Miko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The newest instructor in the Red Room is different from the others, and he seems to have developed a bit of an obsession with Natasha.</p><p>Her curiosity is piqued. There's got to be a way she can use this to her advantage.</p><p> </p><p>This fic can stand alone if you're not interested in the rest of the series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't want to put archive warnings on because they are relatively minor themes to the story, but I will mention them here just in case. The underage issue isn't addressed directly because I don't know how old Natasha canonly was when she graduated from the Red Room, but she's most likely in her late teens compared to Bucky's mid-twenties (Or mid-eighties, depending on how you look at it). There's also some rape imagery at the beginning, and Bucky's consent is dubious throughout since he's not really mentally _capable_ of giving proper consent.
> 
> ETA: Also I just realized there is mention of child molestation, though nothing too graphic. How awful is it that my job involves dealing with the fallout of child molestation so often, I don't always even notice there's anything that needs warning about on that subject *sobs*

The moment she heard the lock on her cell door turn, Natasha was awake and aware. She’d learned long ago to be a light sleeper. Even in the ‘safety’ of their cells at night, they could still find themselves in trouble. The instructors liked to conduct surprise inspections and ambushes, although usually they did that in the evening or first thing in the morning, not the middle of the night. 

It could also be one of the other girls. All of the oldest girls were capable of picking the locks on their cells, of course. Anyone who couldn’t learn to bypass such a simple lock by _now_ had long since washed out. At this stage, with only a few of them left, competition was fierce and they weren’t above sabotaging each other if they thought they could get away with it.

Keeping her breathing even and body relaxed, Natasha pretended she was still asleep. Whoever had come in would be a fool to believe they hadn’t woken her, but she could always get lucky. Her hand was already under her pillow, fingers closed around the handle of a shiv she’d made from a blade stolen after her knife broke in training one day. They weren’t supposed to have weapons in their cells, but Natasha doubted she was the only one who had fashioned something of the sort.

They’d been trained to survive under any circumstances, after all. Paranoia and distrust were so ingrained they might as well be genetic, at this point. 

The door squeaked softly as it opened; Natasha dripped a tiny bit of water into the hinges every few days, to make sure they stayed rusty. Just in case the lock turning wasn’t enough to wake her. 

Whoever it was took two steps into the room, booted feet heavy on the iron floor, and stopped. Not one of the other girls, then. They’d never have made that much noise coming in. An ambush from the instructors? They wouldn’t have made that much noise, either. And why was the person just standing there, presumably watching her?

Getting tired of waiting for the intruder to make the first move, Natasha flung herself out from under the covers and launched off the bed in the same move. There was enough moonlight coming in through the tiny barred window to let her see a large, masculine form standing just inside her doorway, but not enough to see who it was. Furiously she slashed with the shiv, determined to follow up on the advantage of surprise.

Except, she didn’t seem to have any advantage. The intruder was moving before she reached him, impossibly fast, and her blade screeched a protest as it scraped against something else metal and was deflected. A hand closed around her wrist and yanked her to the side, spinning her until her back was against her assailant’s chest and squeezing hard enough to force her to drop the blade.

Natasha followed through on the momentum, dropping down and sliding between his legs, pulling his arm along with her to leave him bent over and off balance. Twisting around, she kicked at the back of his knee. Her bare feet wouldn’t have enough force to truly damage him, but she could at least make him collapse. 

Instead he released his grip on her and jumped right over her attack, landing in a three-point crouch and smashing into her with a powerful kick of his own. _He_ had boots on, and was far stronger than she was. She flew back into the wall hard enough to knock the breath from her chest, and he was on her before she had a chance to recover. Grabbing her with his left hand, he lifted her off her feet with no apparent effort and slammed her back against the wall.

Chilled metal pressed against her flesh through the thin nightshirt. That was the clue that allowed her to finally identify the intruder.

It was the man called Yakov, the newest of the Red Room instructors. They’d brought him in to teach sniping classes to all the girls, and advanced hand-to-hand to the oldest. Small wonder he’d trounced her so easily. Natasha hadn’t fought him in a class yet, but she’d seen him demonstrate techniques on several of the others. He was incredibly fast and strong, and rumour had it he’d been chemically enhanced somehow. He was also the only person she’d ever heard of with a fully functioning metal arm.

“Stop _fighting_ ,” he growled. Natasha tried again to kick him and he shook her, rattling her teeth together. “I said stop it. Why the hell did you attack me?”

“What the hell are you doing in my room?” she countered, spitting in his face. 

“I wanted to talk to you, but then you were asleep,” he replied, scowling at her in the dim light. “I didn’t know if I should wake you.” 

Talk to her. Uh-huh, right. Yakov had creeped her out from the first moment she saw him, with his flat, dead stare that revealed the killer’s soul within. Worse, he had developed a habit of almost constantly following her with his eyes. He wasn’t any harder on her than the others, but he was always _watching_ , like he was just waiting for her to slip up.

At least, that was what she’d thought. Maybe he had another reason to be watching her. It wouldn’t be the first time one of the instructors took a liking to a student and made use of her for his - or her - own pleasure. They tended to pick the younger ones though, the girls who weren’t trained enough yet to be able to resist effectively.

“You touch me, and I’ll gut you,” Natasha growled at him. They were allowed to fight back; it was one of the unspoken rules of the Red Room. If you weren’t strong enough to stop someone from doing something to you, then you were weak enough to deserve it. But if you _were_ strong enough, well, that was exactly the sort of girl they were looking for.

“I am touching you, and you already tried and failed,” he pointed out. “You also lost the knife.”

“Then I’ll bite it off,” Natasha promised with a feral smile that was meant to hide how frightened she actually was. He was so ridiculously strong, not to mention better trained and far more experienced than she was. He’d been brought in to _teach_ them how to fight in situations like this, she knew she had no hope of winning against him.

But she would rot in hell before she went down without a struggle, and she’d damned well make him work for it if he wanted to see her cry. 

“Bite _what_ off?” Yakov demanded. “You’re not making any sense.”

If Natasha hadn’t known better, she’d have thought he was genuinely confused. “Your _dick_ , asshole,” she retorted. “If you wanted someone who wouldn’t fight back, you should have gone for the younger girls.”

“I didn’t want to talk to any of the younger girls.” His scowl had turned to a frown, and he set her on her feet and backed away like being able to see more of her would help him understand. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Maybe she _didn’t_ know better. Bracing herself against the wall to hide the way she was trembling with fear and adrenalin overload, Natasha studied what she could see of him in the moonlight. “You really have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

“I would if you’d just say something that made sense,” he grumbled. 

“What are you, some kind of eunuch?” Even if he hadn’t come here to try to force her, how could he not understand what she meant?

Hesitating, he stared at her for a moment, his frown growing ever more bewildered. “I don’t know that word,” he finally admitted.

It wasn’t the first indication she’d had that Russian wasn’t his native language. He spoke it very well, but he had a trace of an English accent. American English, if she’d managed to learn anything in her language classes. 

“It’s when they cut off your balls,” she said, gesturing crudely at his crotch but watching his expression carefully. “Or your whole dick, but that’s more extreme.”

He reeled back, a look of disgust and horror crossing his face. “Why the fuck would anybody do that?”

“To make it so you can’t have sex.” Still he looked blank, and Natasha shook her head in wonder. “Do you even know what sex is?”

“Of course I know what sex is,” he snapped. He glared at her again, apparently offended by the question. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Incredible. What the hell was wrong with this guy? “So you really just wanted to talk.”

“That’s what I _said_.” His hands clenched into fists, and Natasha heard the faint creak of metal from his left. 

“All right.” Natasha was curious now. If he hadn’t intended to force her, and apparently hadn’t intended to attack her either... what in the name of Mother Russia did he want to _talk_ to her about? “So talk.”

“Not here.” He glanced around her tiny cell, and Natasha had to admit it wasn’t exactly designed as a conversational setting. There was just enough room for her bed and the chest with her clothes, plus space to get to and from the door. 

Turning without another word, Yakov left the room and headed down the hall, clearly intending for her to follow. Bemused, Natasha padded after him, wondering if she was being a fool. It was possible he just wanted to take her somewhere more comfortable first - but she would swear his confusion had been genuine.

He brought her to what must have been his quarters. Stepping inside, Natasha looked around. If she’d thought the instructors were living in luxury, she was doomed to disappointment. Yakov’s space was bigger than the cells the girls were crammed into, but not by much. There was an army cot identical to her own in one corner, a desk beside it, and a sagging sofa on the wall across from it. A single lamp on the desk was the only source of illumination.

Nowhere was there even a hint of personality. No pictures, no books, not a trace of colour anywhere. He had a single army blanket, just like she did, but no pillow. Even she had a pillow.

'Curiouser and curiouser', as Alice said. Yakov was standing there awkwardly now, looming in the doorway and staring at her as he so often did, but he looked more thoughtful than soulless at the moment. Gingerly she took a seat on the sofa, thankfully discovering it was more comfortable than it looked.

“So? Here we are. Talk,” she invited him, raising an eyebrow. 

“I...” his voice failed him, and he shifted from foot to foot like he wanted to move but didn’t know where to go. The light here wasn’t great, but it was much better than her cell, and Natasha was able to clearly see his expression of uncertainty and... dare she say, shyness?

He was like a completely different person from the brutal, aggressive bastard she’d come to hate so much in the daylight hours. Split personality? Or was it all just for show?

“I wanted to know more about you,” he finally got out. “You’re different from the others. Defiant. Not disobedient, just... strong, stubborn. You’re interesting.”

“I’m not sure whether to be complimented or insulted.” Natasha tilted her head at him, pondering the enigma he presented. “I’m a survivor, that’s all. I’ll do whatever it takes to win. I’ll always be the last one to break.”

“Yes,” he agreed, his voice soft. For some reason it made Natasha think of the very first class she’d had with him, when he’d driven every one of the girls until they collapsed.

Including her, but not until _after_ he’d declared the class over. At the time she’d been too exhausted and in pain to realize the implications of what he’d done, but now, reflecting back on it, she was astonished. Yes, it was true that she’d made the kill shot he demanded, but it hadn’t been a perfect shot and he could easily have insisted she try again. She _would_ have broken, with one more round. 

He’d let her win. And that was when he’d started staring at her incessantly.

Because she was ‘interesting’, apparently. Natasha wasn’t sure what to make of that, or of him.

“You’re different, too,” she said, her words careful and measuring. “Not like the others. You don’t spend time with the rest of the instructors, I’ve noticed. You don’t eat with them or talk to them.”

“I’m not one of them,” Yakov answered, shrugging. “I’m just the asset. They brought me out to teach you, they’ll put me back when they’re done with me.”

“Put you back?”

“In the ice,” he clarified, though it didn’t clarify anything at all. “That’s where they keep me, when they don’t need me.”

What on earth did that mean, they ‘kept him in the ice’? And he claimed _she_ made no sense. “Who are you, really?” she asked, wondering what he would say.

He blinked, surprised by the question. “I told you. I’m the asset.”

“That’s what you are, but who are you?” Natasha persisted. “Yakov isn’t really your name.”

“Yes, it is.” He appeared perplexed. “That’s the name they gave me. I don’t usually have one, but I guess they wanted to give you something to call me.”

Was it possible he was simple? Damaged in the brain, somehow? He certainly didn’t give that impression when he was running classes, but he kind of sounded that way, now. It might explain why he didn’t understand what she’d thought he was after.

“You sound American,” she pointed out. It was still a guess, but even if he corrected her that would tell her something.

To her surprise he reacted like she’d shot him, recoiling so hard he slammed his back into the door. “ _No_. I’m not Amer... I’m not anything. I’m just the asset.”

He winced again when he tried to say the word ‘American’, fists clenching as he protested her assumption. A different suspicion started to form in Natasha’s mind, and this one she was more certain of.

She’d had advanced classes in brainwashing and other mind manipulation techniques, of course. Enough that she knew perfectly well plenty of those techniques had been used on _her_ , over the years. Knowing that didn’t help her to break through the conditioning they’d given her, but it did allow her to recognize the signs when she saw them.

His negative response was far stronger than anything she’d experienced, though. And she had a feeling it was barely scratching the surface of what they’d done to him.

“I have to crane my neck to see you, over there. Why don’t you come sit down?” she suggested, changing the subject. If she trod too hard on whatever landmines were in his head, she might set them off, and she had a feeling that would be a very bad thing for her. 

She didn’t want to leave just yet, though. Assuming Yakov would even let her. Things were starting to get interesting. Why would one of their instructors be a brainwashed American? That made no sense at all. The SVR and its predecessor the KGB had plenty of Russian subjects to play with; they didn’t need to risk an international incident by taking a foreign national.

Then there was the issue of his insane strength and speed, not to mention his arm. Who was this man, and where had he come from? What had he been, before they’d erased so much of his mind?

Natasha had thought she and the other girls had it bad. At least she still knew who she was, even if that ‘who’ had been dictated from the beginning by the Red Room.

Watching her like he suspected her words were some kind of trap, Yakov moved to perch cautiously on the edge of his cot. That put them just out of arm’s reach from one another, though they could easily have crossed legs. Not quite threatening, but not quite at safe range, either. It was as far as he could get from her and still have them both sitting, and she could see it was making him wary.

Relaxing into the couch, Natasha opened up her posture and made her body language casual. It worked just as her teachers had always said that it would, causing him to ease down a notch as well. He didn’t appear to realize consciously what she was doing, which suggested he’d had little to no training in this sort of social manipulation. He was exactly what he seemed; a killer and a fighter. A brute force asset, nothing more. Perhaps literally nothing more.

And yet there _was_ still something more to him, or he wouldn’t have approached her like this. Natasha wondered if his handlers - he must have them, presumably one or more of the regular instructors had been assigned to the task - were aware that he’d come to her.

Once again Yakov seemed to have no idea of what to actually say to her, so Natasha resumed her own subtle interrogation. “Russian isn’t your native language, is it?” she asked, trying to carefully skirt the edges of the topics he’d obviously been forbidden to think about.

“No,” he answered easily. “They gave it to me when they took me out, this time.” He paused, frowning, and added slowly, “I think I already knew some, before that. Not much.”

“They gave it to you?” That was a strange way to put it.

He shrugged. “In the machine. When they wake me, they update me with whatever they need me to know for this mission. Technical specs, weapon and security advances, languages, political information. Sometimes they erase it again after, but usually they let me keep it for the next time.”

They way he was talking, it was like Yakov thought of himself as some kind of computer. A blank slate, to be programmed and reprogrammed however much and often his handlers liked. When they ‘woke him’, or ‘took him from the ice’... cryostasis? Natasha had thought that was just science fiction.

Unless he really _was_ a computer. Some kind of robot, maybe. That would explain his incomprehension where the topic of sex was concerned, as well as his inhuman characteristics. Although she wouldn’t have thought a robot would look horrified upon having the concept of a eunuch explained to him. And why leave the one arm as bare metal?

“How many languages do you speak?” Natasha was fluent in at least half a dozen and conversant in several more, but she’d had to learn them all the hard way. If he had them inserted into his mind somehow, he could speak dozens.

“I don’t know. As many as they need me to.” Yakov seemed to consider it for a moment. “English, German, French, Russian... maybe others I don’t remember right now. I think... I think maybe English was first.”

That fit with his accent. And he surely must be American, or he wouldn’t have such a strong conditioned aversion to the idea of it. Which, when she thought about it, also argued against the robot theory. Unless he’d been an American robot to start with?

Okay, now she was wandering into the realm of the truly ridiculous. Not that there seemed to be many other places to end up, where he was concerned.

“So you just wanted to know why I was different from the others?” she asked, circling back around to the start of this whole mess. “I’m not, really. Someone has to be the strongest, the toughest. I make sure it’s me, that’s all.”

“You... remind me of someone,” he said slowly, and winced again before shaking his head. Whoever it was she reminded him of, it was someone from his past, someone he wasn’t allowed to think about. 

A lost lover, perhaps? The idea of sexual attraction might have been something they’d taken from him, not something he’d started without. That might well leave him attracted to her, without being able to understand that attraction as anything more than curiosity. Natasha grew more fascinated with everything she learned about him.

There were so many ways she could potentially turn this situation to her advantage. She’d have to be careful, of course. If she coaxed Yakov into going easy on her in class, for example, the other instructors would notice immediately and put a stop to it. But if she played her cards right she might be able to get small favours out of it, little things that could give her an advantage over the other girls. It might make the difference between being a graduate or a failure.

Only one girl from each class got to graduate, after all. Being second would mean nothing except that she was the last girl to fail, and in a way that would be worse than failing earlier. Natasha _would_ survive, she would graduate, no matter what it took.

It wasn’t as if it would be a hardship to cultivate Yakov. Like this he was sweet, almost a pet, not at all the brutish ass he was during the day. 

Best to leave him with his curiosity still mostly unsatisfied, then. She needed him to keep coming to her, so she could draw him in and figure out the best way to control and make use of him. “I should go, before they notice I’m not where I should be,” she told him, making her voice regretful. “I don’t mind if we talk again. But you mustn’t approach me during the day, or be any different with me than you are with the others. Understand? We’d both get in trouble.”

“I know,” he nodded. “That’s why I waited. You really don’t mind?”

He sounded so lost, so lonely, that Natasha knew she’d already won. Making him hers would be hardly any challenge at all. Hell, she wouldn’t even have to play him false; she could give him the companionship he so clearly craved while she worked him to get what she wanted as well.

When she pushed to her feet Yakov rose as well, though she thought it was unwillingness to allow her the tactical advantage rather than politeness. Telegraphing her action so he wouldn’t react to it as a perceived threat, Natasha reached out and put her hand lightly on his flesh arm, fingers tracing the curve of the muscles in his forearm with a stroking motion.

He shivered, pupils expanding, and stared at her like he wasn’t sure what to make of her or his own reaction. Obviously he wasn’t completely unaware of her on a physical level, then. Natasha catalogued the response, already analyzing what it meant and how she could take advantage of it. 

“I don’t mind, Yasha,” she promised him, letting her voice drop to something approximating a purr. Sure enough the sound made him swallow, and Natasha permitted herself a tiny smirk of victory. 

This was going to be easy.


	2. Chapter 2

First chance she got, Natasha broke into one of the computer rooms and through the security around the personnel files. She wasn’t in the least surprised to discover that most of Yakov’s file was hidden away behind far higher clearance levels than she’d yet managed to find a way around, but there was some basic information she could access.

He really had been in cryostasis. At least, she assumed so - any information about how it was done was classified, but his year of birth was listed as _1917_. He certainly didn’t look like a man in his eighties. All other identifying info had been stripped out and he was referred to only as ‘the asset’, but there was a scan of an old photograph that showed him in an American WWII era uniform. He looked clean-cut and charming, exactly the sort of dashing soldier the girls probably swooned over, back then.

A captured enemy combatant? It explained why there had been no outcry over a missing American, he’d have been listed MIA in the war decades ago. It didn’t surprise Natasha at all that Russia would have been experimenting on prisoners of war. 

And they had been experimenting on him, the file made that clear. The technical specs and laboratory information were all classified, but his general stats were listed as being far higher than an untouched human was capable of. Strength, speed, metabolism, healing, all of it was enhanced. If she had to guess, Natasha would assume it had been an attempt to recreate the famous serum that had resulted in both Captain America and the Red Skull during the war.

Apparently they’d at least partially succeeded on this particular prisoner, and decided it made him worth the effort of breaking and reprogramming for their own use. The specifics of _that_ process were also classified, but Natasha had a feeling it was the sort of thing she really didn’t want to know the details of.

Natasha surprised herself with a surge of sympathy for the man. They’d taken his very mind from him, rewritten him from the ground up. They’d taken her apart and remade her in their image, too, but at least she was serving her country. He was serving his _enemy_ , and deep down he probably still knew that.

When she saw him in hand-to-hand later that day, there was no sign that Yakov even remembered their conversation the night before. He looked right through her with that chillingly dead-eyed stare of his, the gaze Natasha had thought marked him as a born killer, with no trace of the eager puppy begging for affection she’d seen in private. 

The only difference was that he was no longer watching her obsessively. The three oldest classes were all combined for his lessons, since there weren’t enough girls remaining in each year to be worth holding them separately. He paid no more or less attention to Natasha than he did to the other two girls in her age group, though he did push them all just that little bit harder than the younger ones. 

That night Natasha remained awake much later than she usually did, watching the shifting patterns of shadows on the ceiling as she waited for him to arrive. She’d been certain Yakov would seek her out again, but when midnight was a distant memory she finally acknowledged that he wasn’t coming. Had something detained him? Or had he lost interest now that he’d had the chance to speak to her at all?

He didn’t come the next night, either, nor the night after that. Natasha resigned herself to the fact that the opportunity had slipped through her fingers, and then finally on the fourth night she was awakened by the click of her lock.

Just in case it wasn’t him, she went through her usual routine of pretending to still be asleep. With her hand curled around her shiv under the pillow, Natasha counted three slow breaths before his soft voice broke the silence. “Natalya?”

Sitting up, Natasha brushed her hair out of her eyes and smiled at him. Yakov was standing in the doorway, carefully out of reach this time, probably not trusting that she wouldn’t attack him again. “Yasha,” she greeted him, making her voice warm and welcoming. “I thought you’d lost interest after all.”

“I didn’t want to draw too much attention.” He stepped back into the hall, and she could see his expression better in the light there. He was hesitant and hopeful, still wary but starting to believe she really was willing to give him what he wanted.

“Smart boy,” she said as she slid out of bed and moved to join him. He brightened at the praise, very much like the puppy she’d started thinking of him as. His handlers were fools not to realize what a monumental mistake they’d made in leaving him unattended for so long when he was clearly accustomed to strict oversight. He was starving for affection and positive reinforcement, and he was going to latch on to anyone who offered it.

He led her to his quarters again, and this time she didn’t hesitate to settle onto the couch. She patted the cushion beside her with one eyebrow raised, but he gave her a distrustful look and chose to perch on the far corner of the bed again. Too soon for physical contact, then. Natasha was going to have to remember to take this slow. If she pushed too fast, he’d realize she was working him and turn against her. He wasn’t stupid, just painfully naive and inexperienced in this area, she couldn’t forget that.

“You don’t have to call me Natalya, you know,” she said, tucking her feet up to one side so she was curled against the arm of the couch. It was a posture that suggested comfort and familiarity, completely unthreatening. 

She was rewarded when he relaxed as well, leaning forward to brace his elbows on his knees as he looked at her uncertainly. “What should I call you?”

“Well, most people use Natasha, or sometimes Nata.” She smiled and winked at him. “Natalya is so formal. You’re not my teacher, here. It’s okay for me to call you Yasha, right?”

“Nata.” He said it like he was tasting the word, trying it on for size. The corner of his lip curled up, closer to a snarl than a smile, but she was fairly certain he intended it to be the latter.

“Only in private,” she cautioned him, leaning forward as well to help foster a conspiratorial atmosphere. “Just between you and me. Nata and Yasha in here, but Natalya and Instructor Yakov out there.”

“All right,” he agreed, and his expression got a little closer to being a real smile. He was so pathetic it was almost adorable, in a truly pitiful way. “Nata. I’d like that.”

“I learned a few things about you,” she told him. “I looked up your file in the computer.”

“You’re not supposed to do that,” he said, but his frown was uncertain like he wasn’t sure he was right to scold her.

Natasha laughed, keeping the sound light and merry. “The Red Room exists to teach us how to do things we’re not supposed to do,” she pointed out. “Of course we’re going to put those skills to use, it’s expected.”

Chewing on his lower lip, he considered that for a moment before nodding. “What did you find out?”

“Not much,” she admitted. “Are you sure you want to know? It could hurt, just like when I asked your nationality.”

He clearly remembered what had happened last time, because he flinched and glanced away. His hands clenched as he struggled with himself, but when he looked back there was a desperate need in his eyes. “Tell me? Just go slow.”

As she’d suspected, he was aware there were gaps in his knowledge of himself, and it ate at him. Giving him a few crumbs would cement her in his mind as a friend, someone he could trust, at least to some extent. 

“You were a soldier,” she told him, watching his responses carefully so she could stop the moment it looked like she was causing him any pain. He nodded, as if that confirmed something he’d already known or believed. “In the Second World War, I think.”

“Yeah.” His accent grew stronger as his eyes went distant, reflecting memory instead of the present. “I remember the guns. God, the damned guns, they never stopped and they never let up. And the explosions... mortarfire, shells, mines, bombs, just fucking explosions everywhere, all the time. Everything smelled like blood and gunpowder and death, it reeked until you couldn’t even remember what anything else smelled like.”

His words matched descriptions she’d read in history books, so perfectly it was eerie. Natasha realized that she hadn’t truly believed it until that moment; Yakov really had _been_ there. He’d been alive and fighting in a war that ended sixty years ago, and he hardly looked any older than she was.

“You fought for the Allies, not the Axis,” she continued softly. He winced, but didn’t protest. “I assume you were captured. By Russian forces?”

“HYDRA,” he corrected, his voice hoarse as he shuddered all over. 

Interesting. HYDRA had been the Nazi deep science division, headed by the infamous Red Skull. It made sense that they would have been experimenting on prisoners to try to recreate the supersoldier serum. Russia must have acquired him at some point after that, probably when the war ended.

Whatever his origins, the Red Room had him now. It probably wouldn’t be wise for her to say anything negative about HYDRA, though. If they’d done the initial work of breaking him down, he’d be conditioned to be loyal to them. Since HYDRA didn’t exist anymore, the Red Room might not have bothered to erase that loyalty when they reprogrammed him for their own use.

“You said Yakov couldn’t be my real name,” he said, focusing on the present again as he met her eyes. “Did the file say...?”

With honest regret, she shook her head. Knowing who he’d really been would have allowed her to find out more about him, and given her a further edge over him. “No, it didn’t even list you as Yakov, just ‘the asset’. I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.” He sounded gruff, disappointed, but not upset at her for her inability to give him the answer he wanted. “Probably just as well.”

“Probably,” she acknowledged. “If just talking about what country you were from is painful, that would be a lot worse.”

“They... they fixed me. To be better,” he said, stumbling a little over the words as if they sounded wrong even to him, but he couldn’t phrase it any other way. “To be a better weapon for them. The _best_ weapon.”

“Yes, you are,” she agreed. “That’s why they brought you in to teach us. The next generation, I guess.” Sniping would never be the primary method a Red Room graduate would employ, but it was still a useful skill for them to have. 

It occurred to her to wonder if this was the first time he’d done this, or if they brought him in every decade or so to teach the next round of candidates.

“I don’t mind this, so much,” he said. “Teaching you girls, it’s not so bad. I don’t really like hurting you, but it’s better than killing people. I don’t think they’ve ever left me out so long, before, but it’s nice. I don’t like the ice, it hurts and I dream forever. The nightmares never end.”

Natasha was well acquainted with nightmares. She tried to imagine what it would be like to be trapped in one not just for hours, but for _years_ , and shivered. He couldn’t possibly be properly aware of time passing, he’d have gone mad long ago, but she could believe it would feel like a dream that just never ended.

Not even on the worst of the Red Room instructors would she wish a fate like that. Personally she’d rather have him killing people than breaking her and the other girls, but she couldn’t begrudge him the chance to remain awake and out of the ice.

Though she did wonder if his handlers had considered the possibility that leaving him unattended for so long might allow him to slowly overcome all that conditioning they’d gone to such lengths to put him through. He’d sought her out in an effort to relieve his loneliness, even if he didn’t consciously realize that was why he’d done it.

What else might he end up doing, left to his own devices?

* * *

He didn’t come for her every night, and it was just as well. Natasha and the other girls weren’t allowed enough sleep as it was, as part of their training to be able to survive and function no matter the circumstances. But despite her increased exhaustion Natasha found she was never upset or dismayed when she heard the lock turn and knew he’d come once again. 

If anything she came to look forward to their time together. Yasha remained awkward and shy with her, but slowly opened up as he began to trust that she wasn’t going to try to hurt him somehow. As time went on he started to show - or maybe to develop - a sharp sense of humour that was a match for her own, and she discovered that she liked teaching him to smile and even laugh.

Her cultivation of him paid off quickly, albeit in small ways. He willingly let her take two of his knives back to her room, unknowing or uncaring that she wasn’t supposed to have real weapons hidden away. When they had the girls on short rations for deprivation training he hoarded his food to give to her, and helped her tend to minor but awkward injuries so she wouldn’t be hampered by them in training later.

In return she gave him the companionship he wanted, and Yasha seemed to think he was getting the better end of the deal. If Natasha had ever had anything resembling a conscience or sense of fair play she’d lost it long ago, but she made a point of reaching out to him whenever and however he allowed her to. What she could offer him cost her so little, and meant so very much to him. 

Interestingly he still had never made a pass at her, though he continued to respond to her occasional touch with a sort of startled warmth that made her think it wasn’t truly a lack of interest, but rather a lack of awareness that kept him from trying anything. 

One night as he went to take his customary seat on the bed she blocked him by stretching out her foot to bar his path. “Come sit next to me,” she invited, patting the cushion beside her. “You know I won’t bite. Don’t you trust me?”

She didn’t take offense when Yasha went wary on her, eyeing her like he was trying to figure out what her angle was. “Why?” he finally demanded.

“I want to get a closer look at your arm,” she told him, and it was even the truth. She’d been fascinated by it since she’d first realized it wasn’t just some kind of armour, but was actually his whole arm. “May I?”

Still he hesitated, staring at her as he tried to divine her motives. Natasha looked back at him with her best open, innocent expression, and finally he sighed and settled beside her. When she held out her hand, he reluctantly lifted his left arm and turned his hand over, letting it rest upside down in her palm. 

The metal was colder than the rest of his body, as she’d noticed in the beginning. It was also much lighter than she’d expected - heavier than flesh, but not the dragging weight it should have been. The articulation was incredible, and he seemed to have more or less a full range of motion. Through the narrow gaps that opened between the plates as he moved she could catch glimpses of the inner workings, a mixture of electronics and mechanical systems. She wondered how the hell they’d managed anything approximating it back in the _forties_. Presumably it had been improved since then, but still.

“How come it’s cold?” she asked curiously. “The rest of your body is hotter than normal, shouldn’t it warm up to match?”

“There’s a coolant system, or it would overheat,” Yasha explained, shrugging only with his right shoulder so he wouldn’t pull free of her light grip. “I can do basic maintenance, but I don’t really understand how it works.”

There was a leather half glove that covered most of his hand, probably to hide the fact that they couldn’t manage solid plates in the palm and still give him the flexibility necessary to close his hand around something, however finely articulated. Natasha ran her fingertips over his knuckles, and was startled when his hand twitched. “Can you feel that?”

“There are pressure and tactile sensors, especially in the hand,” he told her, flexing his fingers beneath hers. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be able to hold anything. No pain receptors.”

“No, of course not,” she murmured. “Why include something that might slow you down? I’m surprised they bothered with tactile senses as well as pressure.” Why would they care if he could tell how smooth or rough something was?

“I’ve only had that improvement for a couple of years, I think. Pressure is enough to let me hold a gun or a knife, but not manipulate wires or sensitive equipment,” he explained. 

That made more sense. Natasha ran her fingers over his, tickling his palm through the glove, and he twitched again. When she explored further up his wrist and arm he didn’t react, so she returned to playing with his hand.

“Is your whole arm missing? Shoulder, too?” she asked. She’d seen Yasha with his shirt off, and there was metal covering quite a bit of his flesh on the shoulder as well. 

“They cut it off halfway between shoulder and elbow.” He turned his hand, catching her fingers in his, and she held still and let him explore her in turn. The cold metal made his touch feel even more intense when he trailed over the sensitive skin of her inner wrist, and Natasha shivered. He lifted his gaze from studying her hand, blinking when he met her eyes. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” she assured him, and didn’t try to hide the huskiness in her voice. “It feels good, that’s all. Didn’t it feel good when I touched you?”

He looked at her with a puzzled expression, like he was trying to work something out. “They teach you seduction. Is that what you’re trying to do right now, seduce me?”

“Not really,” Natasha said, licking her lips. It was only partly a lie. She hadn’t been deliberately pushing for a sexual response, but the idea had been there in the back of her mind. “I could, though. Do you want me to show you what they made you forget?” 

She turned her hand in his again, rubbing her fingertips in the creases between his fingers, and his breath caught in his throat. “Depends,” he answered, ever cautious. “Are you going to gut me for it like you threatened to do the first night?”

Almost despite herself, Natasha huffed a soft laugh. “That’s different. I thought you were going to try to force me. Now, I’m offering.”

Still he hesitated for a long moment, probably trying hard to read her motives, conflicting emotions passing over his face. Finally Yasha nodded, just slightly, and she took that as the invitation it was meant to be. 

Moving slowly to avoid startling him, Natasha shifted until she was sitting perched on his legs. With a sinuous movement she slid herself forward until her knees were on either side of his hips and she hovered just a bare inch from pressing against him. 

Giving him a coy look from beneath her lashes, Natasha let go of his metal arm so she could trail her hands down over his chest. She took her time, scratching with her nails and exploring with her fingertips. He was frowning as she did it, but not like he was angry – it was a thoughtful expression, as if he was trying to concentrate on the sensations so he could better understand what he was supposed to be experiencing.

When she caught the slight peak of his nipple against her nail and flicked it, she _saw_ the jolt of pleasure and awareness that swept through him. His eyes went wide, and she saw the pulse in his throat jump. “Oh,” he breathed out, almost reverent, like she’d shown him the secret to the universe.

The classes she’d had in seduction were all theory, really. They practiced, of course, but it was on each other or the instructors, not real targets who would give genuine responses. Seeing the effect she had on Yasha, watching his pupils dilate as arousal hit and heat filled his expression, was surprisingly… empowering. 

_She_ had control over this situation, over _him_. Yes, he could probably overpower her without much effort, but she was still the one who caused the reaction in the first place. For the first time Natasha truly understood what her instructors meant when they said that a beautiful woman could command most men if she only knew how. 

More than that, she liked having this effect on him. Yasha was wide-eyed and wondering, his hands coming up to catch her by the waist and tug her closer to him, down into his lap where she could feel his cock starting to harden. She’d done that to him. It made her feel beautiful and sexy and dominant.

So Natasha let him pull her into a kiss, and was surprised when he wasn’t half bad at it. Considering he literally hadn’t understood the idea of _wanting_ to kiss someone less than a minute ago, it had to be leftover instinct from whoever he’d been before his enemies had destroyed and rebuilt him. 

Still, there was definitely room for improvement. He was thinking more about what felt good to him than to her. Deftly Natasha coaxed him with lips and tongue into something more mutual, showing him how to lick and nibble to get the most out of the experience. She’d give him this much, he was a damned fast learner. 

It wasn’t really a surprise when Yasha tightened his grip on her waist and tried to flip her over. He’d intended for her to end up flat on her back on the couch with him pinning her down, but she rolled with the movement and unbalanced him, sending both of them onto the floor.

Natasha wound up on top, exactly as she’d planned, straddling his waist with her hands on his shoulders for balance. “Easy, Yashen’ka,” she purred at him when she felt him go tense in preparation to throwing her off. “I’m not attacking you, but if we do this, we’re going to do it my way.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, and it wasn’t difficult to guess that he was considering whether to argue with her or not. When all was said and done he was still her instructor and superior, after all. Shifting her weight back, Natasha rubbed her ass against his still-hardening cock. She knew she’d won when he shuddered and groaned in response. His hands came up to her waist again, not to push her away but to pull her closer. 

“This is how it’s going to go,” Natasha told him, rolling her hips slowly against him. She needed to set ground rules now, while he was receptive, so she could _keep_ control of the situation. He was accustomed to being ordered around, it shouldn’t be too hard to put herself in that position as far as sex was concerned. “Out there you own me and there’s not a fucking thing I can do about it. But in here, between the two of us, if you want _this_ …”

She set the nails of one hand against the side of his neck and scratched lightly down his throat, and Yasha arched beneath her and made a helpless noise of pleasure. “If you want this,” she continued with a wicked smirk, “You do what _I_ say. No questions, no arguments. If I say stop, you stop. If I say don’t, you _don’t_.” 

He glared at her, chest heaving as he panted, and she raised an eyebrow at him. “If we do it the way you want to you’ll _break_ me, Yashka. You’re too strong.”

The pejorative made him twitch, but he seemed to see the logic in her words. “I can say stop and don’t, too,” he said. It seemed like he was trying to make it a demand, but he ruined it when he added uncertainly, “Right?”

Natasha felt her throat go tight with something that could only be pity. It was easy to forget sometimes that in many ways he had it far worse than she and the other girls did. At least Natasha had the knowledge that one day she would graduate, and while she would still be under the Red Room’s power she would no longer be under their complete control. He would never have that.

“We can both say don’t, and we can both say please,” she offered in a gentler tone. “I promise you’ll get as much out of it as I do, Yashen’ka. This is for both of us.”

Mostly it was for him, in fact, but admitting as much would break the connection Natasha was trying so hard to build between them. Besides, it wasn’t like she was getting _nothing_ out of it. She’d thought that she wouldn’t, that it would be just another training exercise, but she was enjoying this far more than she’d expected to. 

“What do you want me to do?” he asked, hands tightening on her waist when she rocked harder against him. 

“Nothing. Just tell me what feels good, and what doesn’t,” Natasha instructed him with a sly smile. He was definitely hard now, the solid length of him grinding against her through the tough material of his pants and the silk of her panties. She’d never bothered wearing anything to their meetings but the thin nightshirt she always slept in, not wanting to raise questions if the instructors ever did ambush her in the night.

Shifting her weight so she was better balanced, Natasha moved her hands from his shoulders and wormed them beneath his shirt at the waist. Her fingertips slid against heated skin pulled tight over tense muscles, and she felt them jump in response to her touch. He made a noise, not quite a moan, and she smiled as she continued to push his shirt up.

He caught on quickly, half sitting with no apparent effort or need for support, while he yanked the sweater over his head. Natasha was unashamed to admit she sat there and admired the taut muscles of his chest and abdomen as he tossed the shirt aside and lay back again. This time he braced his elbows and forearms on the ground behind him, leaving him raised enough to be able to look down his body at her easily, and it meant he wasn’t hanging on to her and so couldn’t accidentally squeeze too tightly.

His torso could make a sculptor weep with envy, clean lines and curves that were all soft skin over solid muscle. The scars that cut across the flesh here and there should have marred the perfection, but instead they added character and made him more real. The ridges of raised flesh around his metal shoulder were less attractive, but such a part of him that Natasha could hardly imagine him any other way.

The lack of hair fascinated her, accustomed to Russian men as she was. Was it an American thing? She knew the weather was warmer there, so perhaps men simply didn’t grow as much hair. Or was it a strange side effect of how they’d changed his body? If there were any shirtless pictures of Captain America out there she’d never seen them, but given prudish forties sensibilities she doubted they existed. The Red Skull certainly hadn’t posed for any, so there was no way to know if it was something all three had in common.

Running her hands over the smooth, heated flesh, Natasha decided she really didn’t care what the reason for the lack of body hair was. Yasha was simultaneously soft and hard, the silk of his skin laid over the steel of his muscles, and the contrast was erotic. Leaning down, she followed the path her hands had just taken with her mouth and tongue instead, and was rewarded when he groaned and arched up beneath her again.

He tasted good, of salt and clean sweat. When she closed her teeth over the peak of his nipple he jerked and gasped. Natasha smiled against him and worried her teeth back and forth, hard enough that it should have stung, but none of the sounds he made came anywhere near a protest. Digging her nails into his side and scraping at the skin had a similar positive effect.

If anything Natasha would have expected his enhanced senses to mean he’d want _less_ stimulation, but apparently the opposite was true. Maybe it was because he healed any damage so quickly, so it didn’t even have a chance to register as pain. Whatever the case, clearly he didn’t mind if she was rough with him, and Natasha wasn’t going to complain either.

When she looked she found Yasha’s eyes closed and his head tipped back, his expression one of pleasure so intense it bordered on a different kind of pain. Perhaps sensing her attention on him, he slowly opened his eyes and the heat there made the blue of his irises seem as bright as flames. It scorched right through Natasha, sparking a similar heat inside her and making her squirm against his cock in surprise.

Of course she knew what desire felt like. Natasha had been trained intensely in how to recognize and control the reactions of her own body under just about any circumstances. She could hold off an orgasm indefinitely or come on command with no lead up at all, and she could make herself wet with arousal just by thinking a key phrase. They’d forced her to associate pleasure with many different sensations, up to and including fairly intense pain, and then they’d demanded that she learn to detach her mind and think clearly while her body continued the meaningless charade. 

Except this suddenly didn’t feel like a charade. She didn’t want to detach her mind. Yasha wasn’t a subject she was trying to carefully pry information from in the midst of orgasm, and she didn’t need to keep him distracted to prevent him from realizing she was after something more than her own gratification in turn. She was working him to her advantage, but there was no reason that advantage couldn’t include genuine pleasure for her as well as him, could it?

She’d hesitated for too long, and he was watching her now with a mixture of confusion and concern. Smiling at him, hoping the expression wasn’t as shaky as she inexplicably felt, Natasha refocused her attention. Getting sidetracked was a bad idea, and she knew it. This was about giving something back to Yasha in return for all he’d done for her, and all he was _going_ to do for her, even if he didn’t know it yet.

“Do you like this?” she asked him, hoping to divert his attention from the questions she could see in his eyes. “Does it feel good?”

“I... yes...” Yasha didn’t seem quite sure how to answer her, and moaned again when she deliberately ground down onto his cock as hard as she could. He was trembling - holding himself back, she realized when his hips jerked up against hers before he forced himself still again.

“It’s all right,” she told him, scratching her nails down his chest. “You can thrust if you want. It will feel good.”

Gasping, he rocked up into her, eyes closing again as he set a frantic pace. She moved in counterpoint with him, responding to every signal he gave her, letting him have whatever he needed to make it feel as good as possible. Even if she hadn’t already known, it wouldn’t have been difficult to guess that Yasha had gone without for so long he’d forgotten what it was supposed to feel like. The pleasure threatened to sweep him away with the force of a riptide.

This time when he grabbed her hips and rolled them over, she allowed it to happen. She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck, letting him rut against her as he panted for air into her hair. It didn’t take long before his rhythm faltered, hips stuttering and grinding into her as he came with a choked groan, hands so tight on her hips they were going to leave nasty bruises.

Natasha didn’t mind. She didn’t even mind the empty ache that had grown inside her - she could have brought herself to completion easily enough if she’d wanted, but in an odd way it felt more satisfying not to. This was for Yasha. Knowing that she’d just given him his first orgasm in years, maybe in _decades_ , was satisfaction enough on its own.

The fact that letting herself truly enjoy it would make it more difficult to remember that this was only supposed to be about payment had nothing to do with it.

He collapsed onto her, still trembling with aftershocks. Gently she stroked his hair with one hand and his back with the other, murmuring soothing noises into his ear. There was no way she could imagine how intense and overwhelming this must have been for Yasha. It wasn’t surprising if he needed a minute to gather his composure. Hell, it was a compliment.

“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” were the first coherent words he managed, as he lifted himself up enough to be able to meet her eyes.

Touched by his genuine concern, Natasha smiled up at him. “I’m fine. I would have said stop if it was too much. Are _you_ okay?”

“That was... Jesus Christ that was... holy shit.” The cursing came out in English, which didn’t really surprise her and confirmed that it was probably his first language. Groaning, Yasha rolled to the side and brought her with him, so that his back was pressed against the couch and she was tucked up against his chest with his arms around her.

He was warm and solid and the position was surprisingly comfortable. He was also, she was astonished to realize, still quite hard against her hip. Natasha was certain that he’d come, and she hadn’t thought it was possible for men to be aroused again that quickly, rumours of teenage libido aside. Another side effect of his physical alterations?

Whatever the case, Yasha didn’t seem to be discontent with the orgasm he’d had. He held her to him, his breathing still ragged and heartbeat fast and strong, but his arms were surprisingly gentle. 

“That’s what you thought I wanted to do to you, the first night?” he asked when he’d regained some measure of composure. Natasha smirked and nodded, and he blinked at her with an adorably bewildered expression. “Why the hell were you _objecting_ , then?”

Ah. Now that was a different question. Natasha felt her smile go crooked. “If someone else you didn’t like... say, Instructor Mikhail, if he did that to you, do you think you’d enjoy it so much?” Mikhail was a fat slob of a man, with foul breath and pinching fingers. He was one of the worst offenders for choosing the softest, most breakable of the young girls and using them up before they had a chance to wash out in a different way. 

Yasha shuddered against her and growled, hands tightening again. “Exactly,” she told him. “It’s different when you don’t want it. Not that you’re as disgusting as he is, but it doesn’t matter how pretty you are if I’m not interested. If you ever try something without my permission, I’ll _still_ gut you, got it?”

“I won’t,” he promised. “Not to you or anyone else. I wouldn’t want to.”

The funny thing was, she believed he actually meant it.


	3. Chapter 3

Natasha had honestly expected that once she introduced sex to the equation, it would become the only thing Yasha wanted from her. What else did she really have to offer him, when it came right down to it? Sure, he’d seemed to enjoy just sitting and talking to her when that was all he knew to want, but she’d assumed that was only because he hadn’t figured out yet what he was missing.

He surprised her, though. There was never a night when he didn’t also want to talk, and sometimes he still wasn’t interested in anything but her company. He asked about her classes, the ones she didn’t mind discussing, like politics and global affairs and social manipulation. It didn’t take long for her to realize that Yasha was using her to fill in the gaps in his own knowledge about the world beyond the Red Room and how people related with each other. 

He learned frighteningly fast, and in the course of just a few weeks Natasha couldn’t believe the difference it made in his interactions with her. The ignorant, affection-starved puppy grew up before her eyes into an intelligent, strong-minded bulldog. As she watched he felt out the edges of his conditioning, learning what thoughts and actions would trigger him and how to work around it to get what he wanted.

What _that_ was, she still wasn’t entirely sure. Yasha trusted her to a certain extent, and no longer hesitated to let her into his personal space even in vulnerable situations, but he still kept his innermost thoughts from her. Natasha believed that was at least somewhat because he didn’t dare vocalize a lot of what he was thinking for fear of tripping one of those triggers, but it was also because part of him was aware that she was One Of The Enemy.

None of which meant he didn’t _also_ welcome the sex. Once he understood what it was that his body wanted and needed, he wasn’t shy about asking her for it. Natasha was careful to keep things focused mostly on him, letting him kiss and fondle her to a certain extent but using every trick she knew to distract him if he tried for more than that. She used her hands and mouth to get him off, telling him they couldn’t risk more because she hadn’t graduated yet and wouldn’t chance getting pregnant. 

It even had the benefit of being the truth, and though Yasha was clearly disappointed about the ban, he respected her ‘don’t’ without argument or further questions about her reasons for refusing.

Even to herself, Natasha refused to admit that the real reason she didn’t want him that close was because she was afraid it would only prove that she’d already let him get too far under her skin. She was starting to like the man he was becoming in his own right, not just see him as a potential resource to be exploited, and that was terrifying. She damned well knew better.

One night he surprised her when he swept her into an embrace the moment his door closed behind them. Usually he waited until the end of their time to initiate anything, if he was going to at all. Natasha didn’t protest, responding to his kiss with enthusiasm, but she was curious at the change.

Just like with everything else, Yasha had learned fast in this area, too. His kiss was quite expert now, lips and tongue stroking hers, teeth nipping just hard enough to send little electric shocks through her body, and tonight he seemed determined not to ever come up for air.

Before she quite knew what was happening Natasha found herself pressed tight against him, their bodies melded together from chest to hips. He had his hands cupped under her ass, metal and flesh creating a fascinating contrast of heat and chill through her nightgown as he raised her up onto her toes until she was forced to lean on him for support.

Dizzy with a combination of arousal and lack of air, Natasha gasped when he finally lifted his mouth from hers. “What’s gotten into you?”

The blue of his eyes was piercing as he stared down at her, desire mixing with determination. “We’ve been doing this wrong.”

“Excuse me?” Nonplussed, Natasha stared up at him, trying to decide if she should be insulted. Seduction was one of the things the Red Room had specifically trained her for, and she didn’t appreciate the insinuation that she’d been going about it incorrectly. “I’m pretty sure I know exactly what I’m doing, Yashka. I certainly haven’t heard any complaints, from my instructors or from you.”

“Not you,” he hastened to assure her, his eyes going wide as he realized how she’d taken his words. “ _Me_. You’re the one doing all the work. I’m not giving anything back to you.”

“You’re not supposed to be,” she told him, softening now that she understood his objection. It was sweet, really, and she probably should have expected that he’d figure out sooner or later that things were too one-sided between them. “This is my way of paying you back for helping me so much. And I like making you feel good.”

“Why can’t I like making you feel good, too?” Yasha countered. “What if that’s what I want as payment, a chance to touch you in return?”

“Well, that’s...” Natasha wasn’t sure how to answer that. He’d backed her into a corner, because he was right that if she was supposed to be paying him with sex, he had a certain amount of control in demanding what form he wanted that payment in. How could she argue that giving him what he wanted didn’t count because what he wanted wasn’t selfish?

“Please, Natashen’ka?” he asked, not quite begging, but looking down at her with sincere desire in his eyes. “I want to taste you.” 

The mental image that sprang to mind to accompany his request was enticing, to say the least. He had such a soft, pretty mouth, and the clever little tricks he’d learned to use with his tongue against hers would feel even better with his face buried in her cunt. Natasha couldn’t remember the last time she’d been allowed pleasure simply for the sake of having pleasure – she’d passed that stage of her seduction training long ago. There seemed little point in bothering when it was just her alone in bed during her precious sleep time.

Need flooded through her, and she wanted badly to shiver in response. _Bury it,_ her training whispered at her, the old mantra that had gotten her through even the worst classes in hiding her true feelings and responses. _Bury it, don’t let him see your reaction. The stronger you feel, the deeper you hide it._

It was harder to do than it had been in years, but Natasha managed to keep her body still and the heat out of her eyes as she gave him a calculated pout. “Don’t you like what I do to you?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, tugging her closer still. She could feel the length of his cock pressed against her stomach, already hard. “That’s why I’d like doing it to you. Are you saying ‘don’t’?”

There was a cautious edge to his voice that made the hair on the back of Natasha’s neck prickle in warning. Yasha was still watching her closely, his eyes locked on hers as he waited for her response, and there was wariness beneath his desire. Apparently it had finally occurred to him that ‘willing’ was not necessarily the same as ‘wanting’, and he was trying to determine which of the two motivated Natasha.

If she said ‘don’t’, she had a feeling Yasha was going to shut down on her entirely. Maybe even end their odd little relationship, though he was getting enough out of their conversations that she didn’t think he’d go that far. 

So maybe it was time to put a stop to this part of their exchanges. If he felt he was adequately repaid for his help by the things she could teach him, there was no reason for her to pay him with sex as well. 

The only problem was that Natasha truly did enjoy giving him pleasure; she liked watching as he was drowned by a wave of ecstasy that she had caused. What he felt when she touched him was clean, untainted. The word ‘innocent’ shouldn’t apply when describing someone’s sexual arousal, but he was the only person she’d ever known whose perceptions of sex hadn’t been warped and distorted by the Red Room. His purity of emotion drew her like a moth to the flame. 

That same naiveté meant his desire to give her pleasure in return wasn’t because he wanted to control her, or manipulate her, or get something out of her. Yasha just wanted to make her feel as good as she made him feel.

“I’m just not saying ‘please’,” Natasha finally answered, as cautious and wary as he was. She didn’t want this to end, but that didn’t mean she wanted him to know how much power he could really have over her. His desire might be selfless now, but that could still change. Just look how far he’d already come since the days when he didn’t understand what her touch made him feel at all.

Yasha took that as permission, lowering his mouth to hers again. This time he pulled her right off her feet, hitching her up against him so she was forced to cling to him as he carried her over to the couch. He set her down so her shoulders were against the arm, arching her back to emphasize the curve of her breasts beneath the thin shirt. He had one knee braced between her legs, keeping her from sliding down, and his other foot still on the floor.

Breaking the kiss, he trailed his mouth over her throat, nipping at her pulse point before dropping lower to trace his tongue over her collarbone. His hands were curved around her ribcage, thumbs just beneath the swell of her breasts. When he dipped his head lower, obviously intending to put his mouth on her nipple, Natasha felt her pulse jump abruptly. 

Which was ridiculous. It was such a stupid, simple action, the next thing to non-sexual by the standards Natasha was accustomed to. She’d even let him do it before, once or twice, though usually she stopped him before he got that far. This was no different than any of the other times, so why was she responding with such anticipation?

Just before he made contact Yasha paused, looking up at her. “Don’t?” he asked softly, perhaps noticing her unusual reaction. It could be mistaken for fear, if someone didn’t know better, and he might not.

Then the hint of a smile quirked his lips and he added, “Or is it please?” 

“Now you’re just fishing,” Natasha scolded him, but she didn’t try to hide the amusement behind her words. It was a shame his sense of humour so rarely made an appearance, because she always liked it when it did.

All traces of laughter fled when he finally closed his lips around her taut nipple. His mouth was hot and wet even through the fabric, teeth catching the peak and holding it in place for his tongue to flick against. Natasha shivered and moaned, surprising herself with the genuine noise of pleasure. 

The sound seemed to spur him on. Yasha brought his right hand up to cover her other breast, tugging and twisting at her nipple in time with the motions of his tongue. It felt like there was a direct connection between her nipples and her groin, and every touch sent another wave of heat washing through Natasha.

Part of her mind was rebuking her for being so obvious about taking pleasure from what Yasha was doing to her. Another part was freaking out about the fact that she was feeling pleasure at all, while a third part was trying to convince her that she needed to detach herself. The irony of the fact that she was supposed to stop enjoying it so she could focus on pretending to enjoy it wasn’t lost on her, but it was mostly buried by the conflicting urges.

When Yasha finally lifted his head, Natasha was left panting and shivering as the cool air hit the wet material plastered against her breast. “You’re thinking too hard,” he said, frowning at her in concern. “I can _feel_ it, you keep going tense. Nata, you don’t have to do this.”

Struggling with herself, Natasha searched for words to explain her issue without also giving away how deeply his touch affected her. “All my training says I should be faking it, not really experiencing anything. They taught me how to feel pleasure without actually feeling it, and I have to fight that.”

“Ah.” From the darkness that entered his eyes, she thought maybe Yasha really did understand the battle she was engaged in. Well, of course he did. He had to fight his own training and conditioning to do anything at all with her. “Should I stop?”

Wordlessly Natasha shook her head, biting her lip to keep from blurting out an incriminating plea for more. He leaned in to kiss her again, using everything she’d taught him to coax a genuine reaction from her, and she closed her eyes and tried to just concentrate on the sensations.

She felt his hands drop, felt her nightshirt shift as he caught the hem on both sides and tugged lightly. “Don’t? Or please?” he murmured against her lips.

“You don’t have to ask for everything,” she told him, arching her back to lift her hips off the cushion so he could pull the material from under her. The move pressed her tight against his knee, and Natasha gasped as her clit rubbed over the material of his pants. 

“I don’t always notice body language,” Yasha reminded her, his voice husky as he slowly eased the nightshirt up her body. “I don’t wanna do something you don’t like without realizing it. Especially if you’re gonna keep tensing up even if you do like it.”

“That argument would stand up better if you weren’t smirking while you said it,” she informed him breathlessly, and saw the smirk widen further before her view was blocked by material. He was kissing her again the moment the shirt was off, hands coming back to her breasts to fondle and tease.

Realizing she was still rocking slowly against his knee, Natasha forced her hips to still. In the end this needed to be about _him_ , about what he wanted to do to her, not about what she felt because of it. Thinking of it that way was her only hope of getting through this without losing her mind entirely.

Unfortunately he noticed the change, and shifted to push his leg harder against her. Natasha was forced to break the kiss so she could pant for air, biting down hard on the whimper that wanted to escape her. The struggle not to detach herself from what was happening to her body was pushing her in the opposite direction instead, leaving her feeling everything intensely with no control at all.

“You’re wearing too much,” she said, trying for a distraction. He still had all his clothes on, even his boots, and she was now covered only by his body over hers.

“It’s the only way I’m not going to end up taking you,” he growled, his voice going deeper with lust. “When you moan like that it makes me want you so bad, but you said ‘don’t’. You’ve done this for me often enough without getting anything in return. I’ll survive.”

So much for a distraction. His words seemed to pour right through her like liquid fire, making her shiver and rock against his knee again in a futile attempt to ease the pressure building inside her. 

It wasn’t just that Yasha wanted her so much; she already knew that, really. That he was willing to deny himself any release in order to be certain he could pleasure her without breaking her restriction... that meant a lot to her.

Swallowing, Natasha lifted her hands from where she’d been gripping the edges of the cushion and ran her fingers through his hair. “At least take your shirt off? I want to touch you, too.”

He bit his lip, staring down at her, but finally nodded and sat back so he could pull his sweater over his head and toss it aside. Instead of leaning down again he just sat there looking at her, eyes gaze sweeping every inch of her exposed body with a heat she could almost feel. When he did move it was only to trail his hands over the path his eyes had just taken.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said softly, as his fingers traced cool and warm abstract designs over her skin. 

Beauty was something not usually worth remarking on for the girls of the Red Room; they were all beautiful, or they washed out. Yet somehow when Yasha said it that way it felt like the word might actually mean something.

Natasha trembled as his hands reached her hips, his thumbs skimming the crease where her legs met her body, just brushing the edges of her curls. “Don’t?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at her. “Or please?”

“You’re trying to make it a challenge,” Natasha accused him breathlessly.

“It’s keeping you focused,” he pointed out with another smirk. The worst part was that she couldn’t even argue, because he was right. The repeated question was helping to prevent her from pulling back and shutting out what she was feeling.

Refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer, she canted her hips up instead, making his hands slide another inch or two closer to her centre. He finally leaned in, fastening his mouth on her nipple once more.

Then he shocked her by moving his _left_ hand to slide his fingers through her folds. The cool feel of the metal against her heated skin made Natasha hyper aware of every touch, and when the ridges of the articulation on his fingers scraped against her clit it set her on fire. She cried out, barely remembering to muffle the sound against her hand, not wanting to draw attention from anyone who might overhear them.

Obviously intrigued by her reaction, Yasha repeated the motion, deliberately rubbing the full length of one finger over her clit so she could feel every individual plate. Natasha moaned helplessly, then shuddered as he pushed two fingers slowly inside her.

The chill felt even more amazing there, and Natasha rocked her hips up to get more. The leather glove covering his palm wasn’t as satisfying against her clit, but after a moment he shifted his hand so he could get his thumb on her instead, and that was much better.

Cold was on the list of sensations they’d trained her to react positively to, but she’d never experienced it quite like this. “Oh, god, Yashen’ka,” she whimpered, her hips jerking up to meet each slow thrust of her fingers. She was clutching at his shoulders for leverage, and to steady herself against the way the world seemed to be spinning out of control around her.

Then he _stopped_ , pulling his hand away entirely, and Natasha swore as her body yearned after him. She teetered right on the edge of orgasm, but without the last bit of stimulation she couldn’t quite reach the peak. She could have forced herself over, but using her training that way wouldn’t truly satisfy her. Finally the tension inside her eased as her body accepted that it wasn’t happening. She was going to have to work for it again if she wanted to come without making use of that training.

“ _Why_ ,” she demanded, digging her nails into his right shoulder in retaliation and punishment.

If Yasha noticed the pain he gave no sign of it, shrugging as he lifted his hand to his mouth and licked curiously at her juices. He seemed to like the flavour, sucking the metal clean. “I told you, I wanted to taste you.”

“There are much better ways to do that,” she retorted. “Ways that won’t risk having me stab you after all. I can reach three of your knives and a gun from here, you know.”

“Thought you didn’t want this, and you were just letting me have my way?” he asked, giving her an innocent look. 

He was _toying_ with her, the bastard. She’d never done that to him - it was difficult enough to satisfy him some nights, with the way he didn’t go soft until at least the second orgasm. This had to be more of his past self leaking through the conditioning. 

Not for the first time she wondered what Yasha had been like, before HYDRA and the Red Room turned him into a weapon. Playful, she was pretty sure, and probably charming given that he’d clearly had plenty of experience with women. Who had he been? Was there a girl back in America who had mourned when he went missing? Maybe a family left widowed and orphaned? God, he could have _grandkids_ out there somewhere, or even great-grandkids. That was a disturbing thought.

None of it mattered to who he was now, and yet still Natasha couldn’t help but speculate.

“Why don’t you try comparing the taste at the source?” she suggested, dragging her thoughts off that dark path.

His eyes lit up, and his anticipatory smile could have graced the features of a fallen angel. Sliding his left hand beneath her ass, Yasha lifted her with no apparent effort, holding her hips up to make it more comfortable for him to lean in and get his mouth on her. It was easy to forget just _how_ damned strong he was, and it made the care he always took with her all the more obvious. 

This time she expected the pause just before he made contact. “I’m not saying it,” she told him before he could even ask the question. There was no way she was losing this challenge.

“We’ll see,” he murmured, grinning at her before turning his attention to the task at hand.

The first touches of his tongue against her were light, teasing licks as he explored her folds and learned the shape of her. Natasha couldn’t stop her moan as he pushed briefly inside her. When he found her clit she gasped and shivered, sliding her fingers into his hair to try to guide him in the right rhythm.

Yasha was having none of it, resisting her urging and doing whatever the hell he felt like. It didn’t really matter, because everything he was doing felt so damned good. Finally he focused in where she really needed him, pressing his tongue harder against her clit and even scraping her with the edge of his teeth.

And then, just as her hips were starting to rock into the contact, she felt him slow down and lighten his touch. “Don’t stop,” she protested, fisting her hands in his hair desperately - and screamed in frustration as he did exactly that, leaving her just shy of the peak once again. Screw anyone outside, there was no way she could keep quiet. “Damn it, Yashka!”

“You said ‘don’t’ _and_ ‘stop’,” he pointed out, all wide-eyed righteousness. “I thought that meant it was doubly important.”

Growling at him, Natasha snatched the closest knife out of his belt and stabbed at his thigh, knowing perfectly well he would stop her in plenty of time. It was the principle of the thing.

Sure enough Yasha caught her wrist in an iron grip, and though he wasn’t actively laughing, she could see amusement in his eyes. He twisted her hand until she was forced to drop the knife, and it hit the floor beside the couch with a dull thud. 

Leaning close, he pulled her into a fierce kiss. She bit his lip hard in retaliation, and whined when he nipped her in return. “I want you in me,” she blurted out, panting with need against his mouth. Natasha knew for a fact she’d been at least this worked up in the past, during her training, but she didn’t think she’d ever enjoyed it this much or wanted it so badly.

This time his wide-eyed look was entirely genuine as he pulled back to stare at her. “But you said...”

“I know what I said,” she interrupted. “I changed my mind. It will be all right, just for tonight.” She’d finished her monthly cycle only three days ago, it should be safe enough. And there was no way anything less was going to get her off naturally now, not when he’d left her hanging _twice_.

Still he hesitated, eyeing her like he suspected it was some kind of trap. Natasha tried not to feel hurt by the suspicion. Hell, he was only trying to do what she’d asked of him in the past and respect the limit she’d set. 

“Please, Yashen’ka,” she said, not even caring that she was begging. At least, not until his suspicion turned abruptly to a smirk and she realized she’d just lost his challenge. 

Actually, no, even then she didn’t care. Not as long as it got her what she needed.

Easing her back down to lie on the couch, Yasha moved away just long enough to pull the rest of his clothes off. She heard the laces on both of his boots snap as he yanked them off without bothering to untie them first, and his pants joined them on the floor in a messy pile a moment later.

Then they were bare together for the first time ever, and Natasha revelled in the feeling of his skin against hers when he settled over her again. She knew she was going to regret this later, because she was never going to be satisfied with anything less again, but it would be worth it to have it even once. 

God, what the hell had this man done to her? She was doing everything the Red Room had taught her _not_ to, like checking items off on a damned list - empathizing with her target, coming to care for him, enjoying the physical contact, and now letting herself crave it.

The only thing left on the ‘Never Do This’ list was falling in love. Natasha was afraid to even think about that one.

“Are you sure?” Yasha asked one last time as he took her hips in his hands and lined them up. Natasha could feel the head of him nudging against her entrance, and she’d never wanted anything this badly in her life.

“Please,” she whispered again, and clutched at his back as he pushed forward into her.

Nothing in her training had prepared her for the feelings evoked as he sheathed himself inside her. Not just the physical sensations, although those were far more intense than she’d expected. It was the emotional impact that overwhelmed her, slamming her with things she had no frame of reference for or way to process. All Natasha knew was that she wanted to hang on and never let go, and that she was in deep, deep trouble.

“Natashulya,” Yasha gasped, his hands going tight on her hips as he started to thrust. 

It should have hurt, but right then Natasha didn’t think she could even register pain as anything but one more bit of stimulation. And she wanted every bit she could get, writhing in counterpoint to his motions, her knees tight at his waist to encourage him to go as deep as possible. It still wasn’t going to be enough, so she pushed one hand between them to work her fingers against her clit.

The moment he realized what she was doing, Yasha shoved her hand out of the way and replaced it with his own. The left one, and the cool ridged metal felt even better than it had before. Natasha was gasping and crying out with each thrust, helpless to stop herself as the pleasure crashed through her and _finally_ pulled her over the edge to completion.

Yasha cursed as her body squeezed tight around him, and he only managed one more thrust before he came as well, spilling his hot seed deep inside her. Natasha would swear the feel of it triggered a second orgasm hard on the heels of the first, but it might have been aftershocks.

They were both panting, riding out the last of the pleasure held tightly in each other’s arms. Groaning, Yasha shifted them so they were side by side on the couch, with him on the outside as if he was protecting her from the world. All Natasha could do was cling to him, her cheek pressed to his chest as she listened to the rapid drumming of his heartbeat.

“I wish you could stay,” Yasha murmured, some immeasurable time later. “I don’t want you to leave.”

Natasha tried to answer, but nothing came out the first time she opened her mouth. Swallowing, she coughed and tried again, wondering just how loudly she’d been screaming. Well, it wasn’t like there were any rules saying the girls could only have sex with the instructors if they _didn’t_ want to. If anyone questioned her, she’d just say she was getting extra practice. “I can’t be out of my cell all night, I’ll get in trouble.”

“You couldn’t anyway, I have nightmares and I’d hurt you,” Yasha admitted. He stroked her back, metal fingertips cool against her overheated skin and making her shiver. “But I hate letting you go. I just want to always have you with me. It hurts sometimes, my chest squeezes when I look at you, but then I don’t want it to stop hurting. It doesn’t make any sense.”

Somewhat desperately, Natasha tried to tell herself his description didn’t resonate with her at all. Unfortunately while she was a damned good liar, she didn’t seem to be quite good enough for that. “I think that’s what they call ‘love’, Yashen’ka.”

“You think?” he repeated, looking down at her curiously.

“It’s not like I have any practical experience with the emotion,” she pointed out, unable to meet his eyes for fear of what she’d see there - and what he’d see in hers. “Love is very definitely one of the things they _don’t_ teach us here.”

The problem was, she thought she might be learning it, anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

At some point long past midnight, it became clear that Yasha wasn’t coming for her. Natasha wasn’t at all surprised; they’d been together only two nights ago, and he was careful to make sure at least a few days passed between visits.

Just this once she’d been hoping he would make an exception. She really, really needed to see him, but she’d never been the one to initiate things between them. It was hard to be sure how he might react if she sought him out instead – for all she knew, the nights he came to her were the only times the demons in his head were quiet enough to allow him the contact.

Finally Natasha gave up on pretending to try to sleep and slipped out of her bed. She had to take the risk. 

She hadn’t bothered to take her clothes off when she laid down; she felt vulnerable enough right now, she wasn’t going to allow anything she had control over to add to that. Picking the lock on her door was a simple exercise, and the one on his door didn’t turn out to be much harder.

If she’d been thinking straight she’d never have been stupid enough to try to sneak in, but her brain seemed to have been effectively turned off by the conversation she’d had with the Red Room Director after dinner. 

The windowless room was pitch black. The moment she slipped inside a hand closed around her throat, picking her right up off her feet and slamming her back into the door. Choking, Natasha scratched with her nails at his wrist, trying to make him ease up, but it was his metal hand he’d grabbed her with. If she tried to kick him or otherwise attack him to get free she was afraid he’d snap her neck then and there.

“Yasha,” she managed to squeak out a protest. He went still, and she felt a sting of pain at the side of her chest – he’d frozen with a knife just breaking the skin, aimed at her heart. 

“ _Nata_? What the hell are you doing?” he demanded harshly. He dropped her and backed away, and she heard the knife fall to the floor. “I could have killed you!”

“I’m sorry,” she wheezed out, gulping down precious oxygen as she sagged against the door for support. “I wasn’t thinking, I should have knocked. I needed to see you.”

Light flooded the tiny space as he switched on his lamp, bright after the absolute darkness. Yasha was fully clothed, which seemed odd if he’d been sleeping. Then again, given his typical levels of paranoia he probably refused to strip down for anything but bathing or sex.

Her wits were wandering, but Natasha couldn’t seem to gather any of her thoughts or force herself to focus. She was in shock, she was vaguely aware. There were things she was supposed to do if she went into shock, emotional or otherwise, but she couldn’t remember what any of them were.

Yasha was frowning at her now, brow furrowed with concern and consternation. “Nata? What’s wrong? You look like you’re gonna be sick.”

“I…” Words failed her, and Natasha shook her head helplessly. This was a fool’s errand, it wasn’t as if there was anything he could do to help her, but she’d just… wanted to be near him, to feel that tiny bit better because of his presence.

Moving forward, he reached out and gathered her slowly into his arms, giving her plenty of time to object or back away if she wanted to. With a sound that she just barely managed to stop from being a sob, Natasha wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his shoulder.

“They’re graduating me,” she finally said, her voice choked with the tears she refused to shed. 

“What?” Yasha pulled back just enough to be able to look down at her, confused. “But there are still two other girls in your class.”

“Katya and Anya killed each other in training this afternoon,” Natasha told him. “I’m the only one left. They’re giving me my final exam at the end of the week.”

“That’s… good?” Yasha clearly knew the words weren’t the correct thing to say, but he didn’t seem to know what other words to use. “Isn’t it? That’s what you’ve always wanted, to graduate.”

“Because I want to survive! I wanted out of this god damned hell hole!” Natasha burst out, the first of her tears slipping free despite her attempts to hold them back. “But now…”

Now, everything had changed. She had a reason to want to stay. “I’m so scared. And I’ll never see you again,” she finished in a wretched whisper.

Taking her by the shoulders, Yasha eased her back until they could look at each other properly. He lifted his right hand to cup her cheek, thumb wiping away the tears there. “Do you trust me?” he asked, his voice low and intent, his eyes boring into hers. “Completely?”

“What? Why?” Natasha stared back at him, bewildered by the question. He gave her an impatient look, unwilling to explain until he knew her answer.

What _was_ her answer? Did she trust him, completely? Of course not, that would be monumentally stupid. Natasha didn’t trust anybody, that was how she’d survived so long. Trust, like love, was for children who didn’t know any better.

“Yes,” she answered him, her heart betraying her. 

Yasha nodded, grimly determined. “I will get you out of here. I swear to you. I’ll protect you.”

“What… _leave_?” Natasha hissed the last word, eyes going wide. Glancing around frantically as if she could spot any eavesdroppers through the walls, she planted a hand on his chest and pushed him back until he ran into the desk, as far from the door as they could get. 

“Are you insane?” she demanded, keeping her voice as a near soundless whisper. “Do you have any idea what they’d do to us?”

“I know exactly what they’d do to me,” Yasha replied, and the look on his face was terrifyingly bleak. Natasha had no doubt he was speaking from past experience. “They’d kill you, and you’d have the better end of the deal. It’s still worth the risk to try. Freedom is worth any price.”

He truly meant that. He meant it so sincerely, he was willing to take the pain she could _see_ that it caused him to say the words through his conditioning. Staring up at him, Natasha tried to process the idea. 

Freedom. It was a foreign concept to her. She had distant memories of a time before the Red Room, but none of them were pleasant. She’d looked forward for years to the relative freedom that would come with graduation, but relative wasn’t the same thing.

“Where would we even go?” she asked, not quite daring to believe but unable to refuse the possibility entirely.

“Amer… anywhere,” Yasha winced and changed what he’d been about to say with obvious frustration.

“If you can’t even say it, what do you think will happen when you try to go there, Yasha?” She couldn’t hope, she mustn’t let herself hope, because it would hurt too badly when reality struck and inevitably destroyed that hope. 

“Then we’ll go somewhere else. France, or England,” he insisted. “Hell, we can go to China for all I care. It doesn’t matter, just anywhere that’s not _here_.”

Should she tell him the rest of it? If she stayed it wouldn’t matter, there was no point in bringing it up. But if she left with him, it could very well make a difference. 

No, there was still no point. Natasha was two days late for her period, but two days wasn’t that unusual, even for someone as regular as she was. It meant nothing. 

“This would take weeks of preparation to have any chance of success,” she pointed out instead. “There’s no way we can pull it off in six days.”

That earned her a crooked smile. “I’ve had weeks already.”

Natasha felt her eyes go wide. “This is what you’ve been planning?” She’d known he was up to something, she just hadn’t known what it was. _Escape_? He’d done a better job of working around his conditioning than even she had realized. 

“You were just going to leave me here?” she demanded, suddenly upset by the idea. She had no right to be, she knew that. He owed her nothing, and she was still The Enemy. But the thought hurt, regardless.

“I was going to wait until you graduated,” he admitted, brushing her cheek with his thumb again. “I wanted to be with you as long as I could. And I didn’t want you to get in trouble if they thought you had something to do with it. I thought you _wanted_ to stay, Nata. You’re always talking about graduating.”

That was true, and he’d offered to bring her with him the moment he knew she’d changed her mind. Swallowing hard, Natasha started to accept that this was something that might really be happening. “When? Tonight?”

“No, I’m not ready,” Yasha shook his head. “There’s one thing I have to take care of first, and then I’ll come for you. You’ve got the harder job, Nata. You have to convince them that you’re looking forward to it, that there’s nothing wrong at all. If they think you’re hesitating they’ll watch you like a hawk and I won’t be able to get to you. Can you do that? Can you convince them?”

Taking a deep breath, Natasha called on every bit of her training. _Bury it_ , she repeated the mantra to herself, and let the emotions flow out of her along with the air as she breathed out again. _Bury it, bury it, never let them see it. The more it matters, the deeper it goes._

By the time she’d finished the breath, all traces of fear and shock were gone, and she was able to give him a confident, cocky smile. “Please. I’m about to be a Red Room grad. I can convince anybody of anything.”

“That’s my girl.” He leaned down for a fast, fierce kiss, grinning at her when he pulled away again. “We can do this.”

“Yasha.” Letting her masks slip again for a moment, Natasha reached up to touch his face in turn, running her fingers over his jaw. She had to say it. “I love you.”

She’d never said the words before, never admitted it was true, even in the privacy of her own mind. He never had either, both of them avoiding the final, fatal confession. 

Or maybe he’d just been waiting for her, because he didn’t even hesitate. “I love you, too. Now go, and don’t look back. Wait for me. I swear I _will_ come for you.”

“I believe you,” she murmured, and drew him down for one last kiss. 

Then she turned and left the room, walking down the hallway with an uncaring expression that was a shield over the tiny, fragile hope in her heart.

* * *

As she stood by her window and watched the sun rise on the morning of her graduation ceremony, Natasha finally forced herself to accept the truth.

Yasha wasn’t coming.

She’d played her part to the hilt, never letting them suspect anything was wrong. It hadn’t surprised her when he hadn’t come the next night, or the night after that. He’d vanished entirely, not even showing up to teach his classes, but she hadn’t let on that it concerned her in any way.

Then he still hadn’t come the third night, or the fourth. Or the fifth. Out of desperation to buy more time Natasha had even tried to fail her final exam, hoping against hope that they would decide it was worth training her a little more rather than killing her for failing. They’d apparently attributed it to last minute nerves, and passed her anyway. 

At any moment there would be a knock on her door, and they would take her away for the surgery. There would be no going back. Even if Yasha came for her after that, it would be too late. 

Natasha was eight days overdue, now. It could still be nothing. It had been one hell of a stressful week, after all. That might have thrown her cycle off.

She _had_ to believe it was nothing, or she wouldn’t be able to bear it. 

Because he wasn’t coming. 

If he’d been caught she’d have expected them to come for her, next; Yasha had an incredible will, he’d proven that by being able to plan to escape at all, but even he could be broken. Obviously, since they’d done it already. 

So either he’d decided it wasn’t worth the risk of capture to come back for her after all, or he’d somehow managed to protect her by not giving up her name. One an act of ultimate betrayal, then other an act of ultimate loyalty. She would probably never know which it was, and in the end it didn’t matter.

He wasn’t coming. 

She’d been crying all night, allowing herself to purge the emotion, but now she had to stop. Natasha couldn’t afford to seem upset when they came to get her, not after purposefully failing her exam yesterday. Under no circumstances could she allow them to question her loyalty and willingness now.

 _Bury it_ , she chanted the words silently to herself. _Bury it, bury it, never let them see it. The more it matters, the deeper it goes._

This pain would go to the deepest, darkest part of her heart, and she knew it would live there forever. 

When she was certain she had herself under control, she glanced in the mirror. Her reflection looked back at her, scornful and derisive. “This is what you get for depending on someone else, Natashka,” she mocked herself. “You know better than that. The only person you can count on is yourself.”

 _Never_ again.


End file.
